Along the street, down the middle, there is a vicious panel. I cannot see through it. I cannot tell what happens on the other side.

There is a phone at a point on the panel. I can use it to hear from the other side. Yesterday I heard tears coming from the receiver. I haven’t unheard them since.

The temptation to pick up the phone haunts me like a spectre. But the tears implored not to be troubled. I wonder if the tears I can still hear are there, or only an echo. I wish not to disturb them. I wait patiently.

I go for a walk to ease my mind. I walk down the street, along the panel. I’m allowed to pass by the static green man. I buy myself a matcha latte. Through the glass window of the cafe, I see the vicious panel. It remains, relentlessly remains.

How I wish to pick up the phone and hear cheers from the other side. The ruthless black panel, stretching into an infinite height, an infinite beyond, fizzle away and become perfectly clear. Like the window of the cafe where I buy my matcha latte.

I bring my coffee home. I sit at my desk. I need to do work, but before my screen is the vicious panel. All I can do is pray, and wait for Friday.

13.VIII.2024